


xviii. riegan

by green_piggy



Series: these crests that bind us [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 'why is manuela here' BECAUSE I LOVE HER, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Mild Transphobia, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Poisoning, Racism, Slice of Life, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Male Character, [dabs], all the golden deer students feature but prominent ones are tagged, and last but not least, i have no idea how this got to 7k rippo, spoilers for Golden Deer route, spoilers for claude's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: “A minor crest inherited from Riegan of the 10 Elites. Sometimes restores HP equal to 30% of damage dealt when using combat arts.”--What it means to have a Crest that can heal you, and all of the misfortunes that come with it.or:“See!?” Hilda cried. “Stop being ridiculous, Claude! You’re, like, crazy smart. Like,Lysithealevels smart.”In the far distance, with remnants of dark magic clinging to her fingertips, Lysithea sneezed.“That’s very sweet, but please.” Claude turned his attention to his next victim. “I ambeggingyou, Raph. I’ll buy you meat. Tons of meat.”Raphael wrinkled his nose. “You’re more important thananyamount of meat.”





	xviii. riegan

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE HEED ALL THE CONTENT WARNINGS**  
no romance here folks! in this house we are all about FOUND FAMILIESSSSS
> 
> anyway the inspiration from this came at a 3am skype call with my best friend. thanks pal you know who you are. we were discussing crests and how dimitri's super strength most likely comes from his crest (and, consequently, that super strength saps at his body and is probably why he kicks the bucket early in half of his endings a big F for our cheesy lad). that got me thinking about how other crests could impact people, and claude's is one of the easiest to imagine lmao. like some of them - like berdie's allowing her to attack twice - how on earth does that impact you??? do you accidentally buy two of something at the shop sometimes and cry at your ruined budget???? who knows. i sure don't. i ruin my budget without a crest
> 
> ENOUGH RAMBLING heed the warnings and click out if any of that stuff bothers you, i don't mind at all!!
> 
> all of that said, hope you enjoy~
> 
> **EDIT:** the pre-game aspect of this fic has been edited to take into account the reveal of claude's real name! also thank you guys for the support on this fic, i've been blown away by it all haha
> 
> **EDIT:** different edit from the last!! i've added a few paragraphs to the first section and taken out racial slurs, as, upon self-reflection, i didn't feel comfortable using those kind of words even if they _were_ for showcasing the racism claude experiences, and i feel as though said discrimination can be shown without those words. thanks for understanding, and i'm sorry for including those words before.
> 
> new paragraphs can be found between:
> 
> _Where he could avoid bloodshed, he would. This was a policy he swore to follow until his dying breath.)_
> 
> and
> 
> _A few years after the poisoning, his mother received a letter. She pulled him into her bedroom, stony-faced, and pushed it in front of him._
> 
> whew - this is quite long, haha!

Khalid had always healed faster than other kids. Most people, perhaps, would have considered that a blessing, but to him, it was yet another reason for people to spit hatred at the weakling, the _ coward, _the little girl who didn't belong.

He'd learnt to stop going to his parents very young, when they'd just frown and tell him to toughen up whenever he told them of children and adults both abusing him. Words, punches, shoves… if anything, the physical blows were worse, because those nearly always healed up by the time he got home. Bruises would bloom, ugly and raw like an overripe fruit… and vanish by evening, returning his skin to its natural colour deemed wrong by everyone around him.

And, eventually, despite his best attempts, people caught on to his rapid healing. As he got older, they hit harder, more frequently, because the inhuman princess would stroll away without a scratch on her face even if she'd been beaten bloody red.

After the first few attempts, he didn’t fight back. What was the point? He was smaller and skimpier than most of them, and words had stopped working a long time ago - if they had ever mattered at all. He spent most of his time either indoors devouring books or out exploring the wild, far away from people.

When he did go into the public view, he came up with schemes to avoid them. He memorised where the shadows fell in the streets so he could easily hide behind crates. His combat instructor only taught him how to fight with weapons; Khalid taught himself the weak points on a person's body - the back of a knee, the soft skin in the curve of an elbow - that he could easily hit without causing serious harm before fleeing, ignoring the eyes judging him for being a coward. With some people, words _ were _ enough, and he wielded those better than any blade. He kept both ears peeled for any and all gossip, and in his bedroom mirror, practiced flattering words and how to keep the perfect smile.

The smile? That was important. When you smiled, and stretched it, all dimple-cheeked and toothy, people - even those who would otherwise have hated you - tripped over themselves to help you. People trusted a smile more than a frown, and it made other people happy. Made you look friendly. Approachable. _ Trustworthy. _ Even if you never meant it, it wasn't as if anyone looked at your eyes.

And, most of the time, it worked. It was only later on that he had to resort to more dangerous schemes.

All of this, just to survive.

Yet, were it not for that strange healing, he'd almost certainly be dead.

He'd been four, the first time someone had tried to poison him. He'd had a stomach ache for several days, but thought he'd just eaten something dodgy, and it was only when his mother screamed and tore into a merchant he'd bought sweets from that he realised what had really happened.

It wasn't… it hadn't been a pleasant moment. Realising that, despite being a child, strangers hated his existence enough to want him dead.

When he was eleven, a trusted guard had dribbled into his drink a colourless, odourless, lethal poison, at a buffet to celebrate his father's latest assault at Fódlan's Locket. It was a poison so potent that it had fallen warriors twice his height and thrice his mass.

He remembered when he woke up, several days later, as clearly as a cloudless sky.

The room had been silent, save for the crowing of birds outside. It must have been late, for the sun tinged the entire room a faint, warm red. He'd awoken with a parched throat and every limb aching, feeling as though a wyvern was sleeping on top of him. There were no keepsakes or little decorations. No flowers or any little ornaments typically found in a room of an ill person. Not even a bedside table. Clearly, no one had been expecting him to live.

When he forced open his stinging eyes and glanced around, no one was there. If his heart ached, he didn't acknowledge it.

He didn't have the energy to move, and it was a long while before anyone came in.

Even when they did, they paid no heed to him at first, mumbling something under their breath that he would have gotten were his head not threatening to explode. It was only when he croaked out meaningless noise that they startled, almost dropping the book they'd been holding.

“You're alive,” they said. Surprised, but not without a hint of disappointment.

Khalid was familiar with that. He just cracked a smile.

“Guess I am.”

(His first poison had been revenge against that guard - he'd stayed up, for days on end, studying and concocting until he'd managed to create one that gave awful stomach cramps and unbearable fever for a week straight. He didn't let himself ever stoop to fatal poisons; he kept those ones on his person, just to be safe, but he'd only ever had to use them a handful of times. The thrill that had gone through him when he caught wind of the guard's sudden violent illness was a side of him he never wanted to acknowledge.

Where he could avoid bloodshed, he would. This was a policy he swore to follow until his dying breath.)

He _did _love Almyra, which, perhaps, was the most difficult part of all of this. It would have been so much easier if he hated it.

Almyra itself was a magnificent place; when Khalid was training with his wyvern, Forseti, and his bow, soaring through the cloudless skies with the sun beating down on him... why, he could think of nothing better. The whistle of the wind through Forseti's wings and the sensation of _freedom_ made his cheeks ache from grinning. In the evenings, he'd gaze upon the stars or forage for materials to use in antidotes and medicines. Almyra's science was constantly evolving - one of the royal scientists had began construction on something they called a 'telescope', an instrument that allowed people to look at the stars with detail greater than anything they had yet. When Khalid had begged to use it when it was done, they'd chuckled and ruffled his hair - but they hadn't said _no. _He couldn't wait.

They often held feasts to celebrate anything and everything, and commoners and royalty would mingle with one another, laughing and cheering and linked arm-in-arm. He very rarely had to worry about assassination attempts there, and, indeed, it was one of the only times he allowed himself to relax, even just a little. The food itself was magnificent, of course, but Khalid was unable to tear his gaze away from the smiles and joy on everybody's faces. He wanted to see that as much as possible. If people could come together in feasts, why couldn't people from all over the world come together in general?

And maybe, just maybe... if Khalid could break down the boundaries, the walls that people put up themselves, maybe he could finally lower his own. Maybe he could finally find a place to belong; the same place that everyone else in the world belonged. Hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm, together.

A few years after the poisoning, his mother received a letter. She pulled him into her bedroom, stony-faced, and pushed it in front of him.

“You have a Crest, son,” Tiana said. “From a family in Fódlan - a very important one. Do you know what that is?”

Khalid knew exactly what Crests were, from a lifetime of reading books smuggled from Fódlan, trying to better understand the half of him that was so widely rejected. “Not really. A Crest?” He blinked. “Do you have one?”

She shook her head. “Only you. I think your… _ healing _ is where it comes from. And that's why _ you _ have to go there.” Why she couldn't have told him this, sixteen years earlier, he didn't know. “The family you're from rules a country, but they have no more heirs. When you go there, you'll need to change your name. Almyran names… won't be well received.”

Well, wasn't _ that _ a promising start.

“And you can't go because..?”

“Didn't you always want to see what Fódlan was like?” she asked, folding up the letter and tucking it in her pocket. “Don't you want to go?”

_ Not like this. _

“I suppose so.” He gave her a charming smile and she relaxed. He'd always been a better liar than his parents.

Or, more likely, she simply didn't care enough to look past his lies. Neither of them did.

“I don't have a Crest. It'd…” She shook her head. “It'd be better if you go,” she said, as if she wasn't choosing her husband and Almyra over her only son, her land of birth. She'd rather scoot him off to a foreign country than return there herself.

How was he meant to be excited to go, when his own mother didn't want to be there?

And yet… and _ yet… _

That terrible spark of hope was lit in his chest. He tried to squash it down - it always led to disappointment - but he couldn't stop it from spreading.

Almyra hated him too much for him to make a difference. Despite being a prince, he had countless half-siblings, all of them older than him. At the moment, he was all but powerless. No one listened to the voice of someone like him.

Maybe, just maybe, Fódlan would be different. If it was even just a _ bit _ more accepting, and if he really was an heir to an entire _ country… _

He'd have power. His dream would be just a little more within reach. A world where no one had to suffer through what he did…

And he wanted to see the other half of his heritage with his own eyes. There was only so much he could learn from damaged, dog-earred books bought at obscure prices, from hisses and sneers of soldiers fought off at Fódlan's Throat time and time again. His mother had taught him little, save for the language.

“When do I leave?” he asked, trying to ignore how his mother smiled and shooed him closer to explain more.

“Not for another couple of years,” she said. “When you're eighteen, perhaps. And you _ can’t _tell anyone about me or your father. Not a word. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Within days, word had spread that the cowards had made contact with the queen and her daughter. His mother refused to go outside; Khalid, brimming with naïve foolishness, did. The beatings he'd received in the streets didn't heal for a week. The acid scalds splattered over his chest would never fully heal.

Barely a month later, he abandoned his homeland without any word and snuck into Fódlan.

In some ways, it was different. Trees twisted high into the sky and dappled the fields below in beautiful shadows of leaves and sunlight. The earth felt alive under his footsteps, worms and bugs and all sorts of curious creatures he'd only seen in books peeking out of the cracked soil and nibbled plants. When he breathed in the air, it was humid and crisp, kinder than the arid dryness of Almyra.

But, in all too many ways, nothing had changed at all. The words Khalid heard whispered were different - cur, monster, _ beast _\- but the stares, the hatred of anything different than the norm, the 'accidental’ shoves and eyes brimming with rage?

They were all exactly the same.

He shouldn't have been disillusioned - shouldn't have allowed himself to hope that things would be any different, much less _ better _\- but he had, and he was, and this disappointment stung sharper than most.

He didn't weep, though. He'd long since forgotten how to. He gazed at the clear night sky, mapping out Almyran constellations on Fódlan's view of the same stars, and wondered if, here, he could make his dream come true.

* * *

“This was only meant to be a training exercise!” Hilda whined, whirling herself around and chopping off the head of another bandit.

Beside her, Claude threw her a cheeky grin, sunlight glistening off the arrow he had notched in his bow. “Aww, dry up, Hilda. We're almost done.”

“Shut up, you.” A bandit came up from behind; an arrow stuck between her eyebrows, sending her toppling to the ground before Hilda could blink.

Claude’s grin widened. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“You heard me!” She gave his shoulder a hefty shove, grinning herself as he wobbled and almost fell over. “Go and finish ‘em off.”

He gave a mock salute before disappearing into the bushes. “Aye, aye, captain!”

Rolling her eyes, but not without affection, Hilda darted towards a small huddle of bandits and got to work. She was just removing her axe from the head of the last one when she heard a small cry that froze her heart solid.

By the time she whirled herself around, she saw Claude hit the ground - hard.

The next few seconds were a blur. When she came back to herself, it was to blood steeped in her uniform and a petrified bandit shaking in front of her. Around them, several bodies littered the ground and bushes.

Just as she felt shock start to rattle her bones, her eyes landed on Claude. He hadn’t moved.

She roared, hurling her axe into the face of the last bandit and yanking it out from his caved in skull. She always made a point to never look at her hubris, to glance away whenever she felt her axe connect or heard bone crunch and shatter. She wasn't strong enough to look at the destruction she wrought, the lives _ she _took.

Did that make her a coward? Maybe. She'd rather be a coward than someone unaffected by murder.

Once she'd scanned the immediate area for bandits, she sprinted over to Claude, smashing down the worry threatening to clot her throat. He was fine, he always was, he _ had _to be fine.

He just - wasn't getting up. But that was fine.

“Ignatz!” she yelled, making him startle from where he was sneaking about in the bushes. “Go find Marianne - now! Claude's down!”

He nodded, bow clutched tight to his chest as he turned and ran.

“Take it out,” Claude said when Hilda crouched down next to him. “Take it _ out.” _

Take _ what _ out, she was about to snarl, but stopped when she saw the arrow shaft jutting out of his left bicep. There was a decent amount of blood all over him, but she couldn't tell how much was his and how much was from the bandits. It didn't _ look _fatal, but there was always the risk of infection.

“Hilda,” Claude said, trying for a charming smile even now. Hilda wanted to punch it right off his stupid face. She may have been a huge faker too, but at least she never pretended to be happy. “I _ really _ hate to pull rank, but as your future duke and current house leader; take the arrow _ out.” _

“Are you nuts?” Hilda asked. “Wait, no, don’t answer that. And stop being a big baby, Marianne’s on her way. We’ll pull it out and then heal it up.”

“Pull it out _ now,” _ Claude hissed. He was more frantic about taking the arrow out of his arm than the fact he’d gotten impaled to begin with. What a _ strange _guy. “I mean it, Hilda.”

“I am _ not _pulling it out. Have you forgotten all our classes?”

“No, I just—” He blinked, hard, and after that single second he looked significantly more sallow than before. _ “Please, _Hilda.”

“Not until Marianne gets here! Don’t _ you _know healing magic? I’ve seen you teaching yourself in the library.”

“You can’t use it on _ yourself, _Hilda,” he said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

Behind her, Hilda felt the earth itself rumble with footsteps. She turned around, hand on her axe, sighing with relief when it was only Raphael plummeling the daylight out of a poor bandit. He wiped his blood-stained knuckles against his trouser legs as he jogged up to them.

“Hey, Hilda! What—” He winced. _ “Oh. _That, uh. That looks sore.”

“It's only a flesh wound, he'll be fine.”

“Anyone on their way?”

“Marianne is.”

Raphael nodded. He did a quick look around him before kneeling down next to Claude.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey, Raphael.” Claude gave a wiggle of his fingers from the arm that was arrow-free. “Do me a favour and pull this out, would ya?”

“Uh… no can do, Claude.” He frowned. “I ain’t a medic, but even _ I _know you don’t pull out things you got in your body.”

“See!?” Hilda cried. “Stop being ridiculous, Claude! You’re, like, crazy smart. Like, _ Lysithea _levels smart.”

In the far distance, with remnants of dark magic clinging to her fingertips, Lysithea sneezed.

“That’s very sweet, but please.” Claude turned his attention to his next victim. “I am _ begging _you, Raph. I’ll buy you meat. Tons of meat.”

Raphael wrinkled his nose. “You’re more important than _ any _amount of meat.”

“You know; any other time? I’d be flattered. Really. But _ please, Goddess, just yank this bastard out.” _

“Language, Claude,” Hilda tutted.

“Is this _ really _ the time? I’m lying here, bleeding out, my own people refusing to listen to me, and you’re lecturing me on my _ language?” _

“Sure am,” came her flippant reply. “I mean, you are _ remarkably _calm. You’d think you went around getting impaled daily.”

Instead of replying, Claude grunted, wiggling about in a pathetic attempt to lift his other arm. Yawning, Hilda rested her hand atop his bicep and stopped him in his tracks.

“Nope. _ Not _happening.”

“Hilda,” Claude began, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I will make the professor assign you weeding duties for the next month.”

“Do that and I’ll let you bleed out to death,” she said immediately. _ “Why _are you so insistent? Just tell us!”

“I will once you pull it out!”

“Claude—”

“I can handle this _ alone!” _ he snarled, and the foreign ferocity in his voice made even her pause. “I don’t - let _ go, _Hilda!”

“No,” she said, trying not to waver in front of this unfamiliar person. “You could make it even worse, Claude!”

His entire body gave a violent shudder. Hilda shoved down the tendrils of concern that had been attempting to suffocate her chest this entire time. Claude was fine. He was _ always _fine. This was - just a small blip.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” Claude hissed, and then promptly passed out. Hilda couldn’t tell if he’d deliberately planned that or just gotten extremely fortunate with his timing.

The extremely few medical lessons she had sprung into her mind. She held her fingers against his throat, searching for a heartbeat, and relief hit her like a tide when she felt a strong, if somewhat erratic, thud-thud.

On his other side, Raphael was examining his body, frowning. “Doesn’t seem to have any other big injuries,” he said, flashing Hilda a grin and thumbs-up. “Guess we just gotta wait for Marianne, huh?”

“Yep.” Hilda held out her fist. Raphael, face brightening even further, bumped his fist against her own. “Good work out there, Raph.”

“You mean it!?”

“Hehe.” She giggled, but couldn’t bring herself to lay on her usual layers of false flattery and cooing. Not when she was coated in drying blood and her arms and every inch of her _ ached, _and their house leader was very much unconscious. “Sure do.”

“Thanks, Hilda! You’re the best!”

“Awww. Takes one to know one, Raph. No more bandits around?”

“Nope!” Raphael swung onto his feet and did a quick look around before nodding again. “Nah, we good!”

“Then all we can really do is wait.”

The galloping of hooves caught their attention; Leonie, riding towards them, Marianne’s arms tight around her waist.

“We’re here!” Leonie helped Marianne off her horse and then got off herself. “We were finishing off those bandits, sorry. Is something—” She winced, one eye clenching shut. _ “Oh Goddess.” _

“Yeah.” Hilda shrugged. “He got an arrow in him. Somehow. I looked away for _ five seconds.” _

“Did he pass out?”

“Yeah, but he’s fine. We were just waiting for Marianne to get here before we pull it out and heal.”

Leonie looked extremely doubtful, to put it kindly, but didn’t say anything.

“Um…” came Marianne’s quiet wobble of a voice. “That… that could be a problem.”

“Huh?”

Hilda crouched down beside her.

“It’s…” Marianne frowned, looking as confused as Hilda had ever seen her. “It’s healed? The skin around it, at least.”

“It’s _ what?” _But when she peeked closer, it was exactly as Marianne said. Were it not for the arrow shaft poking out, Claude’s skin looked as flawless as a freshly painted wall. It had healed right up, all wounds gone. There was blood drying around where the arrow had impacted, but the flesh that had been punctured by the head was completely healed.

And the arrowhead was, of course, fully inside his body.

“Does anyone have a knife?” Marianne asked, her voice brimming with a confidence rarely found outside of these moments. Leonie handed her one. With a quiet thanks, Marianne took it and cut off most of the shaft, so that only a small amount jutted above his skin. She also lifted the baggy sleeve of his coat and ripped off some of the cloth.

“Okaaaaaay…” Leonie said, taking her knife back from Marianne. “What do we _ do? _Why did he just… heal himself? Is that even possible?”

All eyes turned to Hilda, since she was, _ somehow, _their unofficial second-in-command. Lorenz was, too, but he was off either preemptively celebrating Claude’s death or finishing off the last of their enemies. “Um… don’t ask me.”

“He isn't gonna _ die, _is he?” Raphael asked her in a low whisper, ignoring her words completely. “Who’s gonna be the new house leader if he dies? The new heir?”

“Lorenz, right?” Leonie hummed, hand on her hip. “Although I’d probably move out of the country if _ he _became leader.”

_ “No one _ , because Claude isn’t dying. He literally just healed himself. Somehow. That’s the exact _ opposite _ of dying,” Hilda said. “Let’s just - get the others over here, and come up with a plan.” Times like these were when she really, _ really _ missed the professor. They had insisted that they’d be fine without them, and, honestly, Byleth had _ really _looked like they needed a break.

This was only meant to be a training exercise.

Hilda blew out a heavy sigh, her fringe moving with it.

Their professor was going to be _ so _ stressed when they got back. Skip one training exercise, and your house leader gets impaled. Go _ them. _

And none of them were experienced medics. They were _ children. _They shouldn’t even be on the battlefield! How on Seiros were they going to get this arrowhead out?

At least Claude wasn’t in immediate danger of bleeding out, but he’d still lost a decent amount of blood.

“Wait!” Hilda clapped her hands together and stood. “I’ve got it!”

“Oh, no,” Leonie whispered.

Ignoring her, Hilda bent down and tucked an arm under Claude. She tried not to look at his face, because it was - frightening, seeing him like this. Yes, she saw right through that joyless smile of his, but seeing him like this… so open, so _ vulnerable... _

It was disconcerting.

He looked both very young and very tired, somehow. Those weren’t things that people resting usually looked like, and yet...

He weighed even less than she would have estimated. She needed to nag him about that when he was better. How you loved feasts as much as Claude did and still remained so skinny, she did _ not _know.

“We'll take him to Professor Manuela,” Hilda said, throwing him over her shoulder like the world's lightest sack of potatoes. “She'll know what to do!”

* * *

“I have _ no _idea what to do,” Manuela said.

Claude was, somehow, still unconscious. Hilda had dumped him onto the infirmary bed with all the grace of a dying swan, and now sat at one of the chairs, gnawing on her knuckles.

Manuela, very slowly, very gingerly, prodded at the snapped arrow embedded in his arm.

“The skin's healed right around it perfectly…” She threw a withering look towards the Golden Deer students crowded in the room. “Just _ how _long did you leave it in?”

“I-it was only a few minutes!” Leonie spluttered.

“Yeah!” Raphael said. He was hunched over on the floor, and still almost reached Hilda's height while she was sitting down. “He kept tellin’ us to pull it out, but that just makes more blood, right?”

“Good to see you remember _ some _of our lessons,” Lysithea said, voice snide. Raphael either didn't catch the bite in her words, or chose to ignore it entirely, for he beamed with a smile brighter than a Seraphim spell.

“Awww! Thanks, Lysithea!”

“I wasn't—”

“It does indeed,” Manuela interrupted, tapping her finger against her chin. “Although in _ this _ case, it may have been better to take it out.” She flopped down on a chair near the other bed. “Argh! You kids are _ so _ much work! I've never come across someone who heals so fast the skin closes up around a weapon _ in _them!”

“...Sorry?” Ignatz offered weakly when nobody spoke.

“It's my fault…” Marianne murmured, wringing her fingers so tightly together she could have popped her knuckles clean off. “I'm - I'm the main healer, I should have known what to do…”

“Marianne, are you kidding me?” Hilda asked, an arm slung over the back of the chair. “In _ every single medical case _save this idiot's, apparently—” Hilda nodded towards the bed— “it's always best to keep the object in to prevent further bleeding and complications.” She batted her eyelashes at Manuela. “Right?”

“...Right.” Manuela sighed and stood up again. “Marianne, darling, please don't beat yourself up. You did a marvelous job. I assume cutting the shaft was your idea? I couldn't have done that better myself.”

“Oh…” Marianne gave a flicker of a smile. “Thank you.”

“Before we continue,” Manuela said. “Just _ where _is your professor?”

“Fishing,” came the chorus of replies.

“They're - they're _ fishing.” _ Manuela put a hand to her head with a sigh that could move mountains. “Of _ course _they are. Why am I surprised.”

“I can go get them, if you so desire,” Lorenz offered.

“Lorenz, if you want to leave, just go,” Lysithea muttered.

“What - don't be preposterous!” He thrust his arm out.

“Pretty sure it's not your 'noble duty’ to stay here in the infirmary,” Leonie sneered.

Lorenz rested his hand on his forehead. “That's not - I am allowed to be here, as much as any person, and that is the end of _ that _conversation.”

“Weren't you just looking for an excuse to leave..?” Ignatz asked weakly.

“He just doesn't want to admit he cares,” Hilda sang.

“About that shamble and imposter of a leader? I think not—”

“Ugh, it's fine, Lorenz.” Manuela said before any of them could break into a proper squabble. “Not like they know any healing.”

She turned to them all, face stern, and it was impressive how quickly they all fell silent. Being a professor had _ some _ perks. “Now, to the rest of you: just _ why _are you here? I barely have breathing room with all of you here!”

Raphael visibly deflated. “Just wanna make sure he's all right…” he mumbled.

“He's our house leader,” Leonie said, voice firm. “Why _ wouldn't _we be here?”

Manuela's heart warmed. “That's kind of you, but don't you have anything better to do?”

“We _ don’t,” _Lysithea barked, surprising all of them. “If you don’t want us here, just say. But if you can’t provide a good reason, then I, for one, will be remaining, and I don’t doubt that everyone else will remain too.”

“I wouldn’t have put it quite like _ that…” _Ignatz murmured. “But she’s right! We all look out for one another!”

Manuela smiled. “That’s…” These kids would be all right. “That’s very sweet. Really. But that, sadly, doesn’t change the fact that I need to operate on him after working out just _ how _I should go about it.”

“Hmm…” Lysithea’s feet dangled above the ground as she kicked the legs of her chair. “The arrowhead may have twisted while going in. Is it possible to pull it out along that path safely?”

“If the surface of his skin’s all healed, though, wouldn’t the skin itself be healed as well?” Raphael offered.

“I say we just rip it out,” Lorenz said, voice haughty, yet tight with concern. “He’s been through worse, _ and _he’ll be healed in no time, if prior experience is anything to go by.”

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Marianne whispered. “I don’t know _ what _is, but I wouldn’t do that.”

“Just pull it out.”

_ “No, _ Claude, we are not—” Hilda whirled around. _ “Claude!?” _

“You're awake!” Ignatz cried out. Claude gave them all a wide smile, and were it not from the stark paleness of his face, perhaps they would have believed it.

“Sure am,” he croaked out. He weakly lifted his head up to see them, confusion etching itself deeper and deeper on his face as he took in each person. “...Why are you guys all here, though?”

“You made us all worry, dumbie.” Hilda made to smack his shoulder, remembered her strength and his weakness, and lowered her fist. “And we care about you, believe or not. Of course we're all here.”

“Huh…” For a second - if even that - there was a look on his face Manuela hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable, almost in a terribly unguarded way that made her heart ache. Surprise, too - raw, awful surprise that he was quick to smother with another smile as he glanced away. “Thanks. Really.”

“Even Lorenz.”

“Wow, really?” Claude chuckled. “I must still be dreaming.”

Lorenz scowled. “That is _ quite _ enough—”

“Enough sappiness.” Manuela clapped her hands. “You can dote and worry on your dear leader later. For now, we have to get this arrowhead out and inspect you for potential internal damage. It wasn't poisoned, was it?”

“I'd know if it was poisoned.”

Manuela was not going to _ begin _to unpack that sentence, or else she'd be here for the rest of the day. Instead, she made shooing motions at the rest of the students. “I'll call for you as soon as he's rested and arrow-free. For now, I need to be alone. Scramble!”

It took much complaining and worried glances towards the bed, but eventually, they all left in a clatter of shoes and boots. Once they were gone, Manuela ordered Hanneman to not let anyone disturb her and shut the doors to his grumbles of how that _ woman _ thought she could tell _ him _ what to do, when she barely knew what _ she _ was doing with her life most days, and he was _ very busy _ and—

“Right.” Manuela sat down on the chair next to him. “How do you feel?”

“Peachy, apart from this poisoned arrow in my arm.”

“Yes, well - it's _ poisoned!?” _ Manuela threw him a sharp glare, and her voice definitely didn’t climb into a shriek. “You said it wasn't! You could _ die, _you silly boy!”

“I said I _ knew _if it'd be poisoned, not that it wasn't.”

Manuela yanked open her cupboard doors. “This is _ not _the time for your smart quips, von Riegan!”

“Hey, hey, it's alright!”

“Just_ how _is it—”

“My Crest gives me accelerated healing,” Claude said hurriedly, before Manuela could rip through her collection of antitoxins. “And poisons don't have much effect on me, unless they're _ crazy _strong. This one just made me a bit out of it.”

“...Huh,” was all Manuela could say. “Is it better if I _ don't _ask how you know so much about poisons affecting your body?”

A shadow fell over his eyes. “Haha, probably.”

With a mighty sigh, Manuela sat down again and took another look at the injury, frowning. “At least your skin isn't growing along the arrow, or anything like that. It healed so fast that I was a bit worried.”

“Oh, that's - that's just my Crest again,” Claude said, voice almost sheepish. “I've always healed right quick, even as a kid. Of course…”

“On paper it sounds like a wonderful ability, but in _ reality…” _Manuela trailed off. “You get situations like this.”

A quiet scoff. “Yeah. Trust me, I know.”

“A healing Crest, though. Those are very rare.”

“Yeah. Professor Hanneman had a _ field _day studying it when I first came here.”

“And you _ let _him?”

Claude shrugged - or tried not, but he winced and stopped very quickly. “I was just as curious as he was.”

“Hmm…” Manuela frowned. “I'll be honest. I'm not quite sure _ how _ to approach this. I need to take it out, but with it fully healed like this… I need to minimise damage. Even if you _ do _heal quickly, ripping it out can cause infection, scarring…” She looked from the arrow to his face. “Unless your Crest affects any of that?”

“It makes things scar quicker, honestly.” He hummed in thought. “And as far as it can tell, it only affects me physically. I still get sick.”

“Even the strongest immune system gets poorly from time to time.” Manuela sighed. “We won't dismiss the risk of infection.”

“So… what are we doing?”

“Oh, I know what I'm doing, don't worry.” Manuela stood up. “You think this is the first arrow I've taken out of a poor student's body?”

A cheeky grin. “First one that's fully healed though, I bet.”

“...True enough. Let me just grab a pair of scissors to cut off your clothes—”

“No, no no _ no.” _ The insistence and almost _ desperation _in his voice made her pause. He pushed himself up on wobbling arms, staring at her with pleading eyes. “You - uh - you don’t need to do that.” He gave a tight smile. “Really.”

_ “Really, _I do.” She picked up the scissors from her table. “How do you expect me to get a bandage on with your coat on?”

“Can’t you just cut off the sleeve? Leave the chest?”

“I… could, but it’d be much easier to just take the whole thing off. _ And _less strange looking.”

“No, please.” His smile strained further. “I’d really appreciate it. Like, beyond words. I’ll never get injured again. I swear I’ll never go in the greenhouse and pick poisonous plants ever again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she tutted. “But if you’re so insistent, I suppose I can just cut off the sleeve.”

He sagged with visible relief onto the bed. “Ah… thank you, Professor. Really.”

It didn’t take her long to snip the sleeve off, tossing it to the ground beside them. Claude stayed silent while she worked - despite his words, his wound must have been getting to him - and only spoke up when Manuela was about to get to work.

“You _ are _gonna knock me out while you do this, right?”

Manuela paused, a pair of tweezers in her hand. “I… hadn't been planning on it, no. It shouldn't hurt _ that _much. And - not that I make them, of course - but any mistakes are much easier to spot with my patient awake.”

“Ah, well… if you could, I'd really, _ really _appreciate it.” He tried to throw a wink at her, but in his state, it just looked as though his eye was twitching. “Nobody's ever called me brave.”

“I think it's wise not to be brave, sometimes,” Manuela said. She went over to the medicine cabinet, fishing about for the sedative she needed. “If it means staying alive. Better to run away with your life intact than die a meaningless death.”

“You _ do _know we were just fighting some bandits, right..?” Claude trailed off, voice thoughtful. “But huh. Never heard it like that before.”

“Do _ you _think it's a bad thing, to be a coward?” She sat down, chair squeaking as she crossed her legs and poured out the sedative, not missing how Claude’s distrusting eyes watched her every movement like a hawk. She could have done this in her sleep.

“I've always been taught it was the worst possible thing to be,” Claude said with a little chuckle, more rueful than humorous. “But I do see your point.”

“Well, _ that's _a pleasant change. Most students have heart attacks if I say that.” She pushed the drink towards him. “It’ll act in a minute or two. I promise you'll be healed and bandaged by the time you wake up.”

“You'll have to tell me how you make this,” Claude said, hesitantly taking it in his uninjured hand. He was, truthfully, handling all of this incredibly well. Perhaps his Crest helped to mitigate the typical synonyms of a serious injury. He didn't appear to be in shock, or much bothered by it at all.

Or maybe it was an experience he was used to.

No. She refused to let her mind wander down that avenue. These students had enough on their shoulders without her piling on potential issues that may very well not even exist.

But yet…

“Perhaps another time,” Manuela teased. “Drink that and I'll get to work.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Claude brought it to his lips, inhaled deeply, and then swallowed it whole. It seemed to cause him great difficulty to chug down a drink he hadn't gotten himself. “Sorry,” he said at Manuela's puzzled face, but didn't expand on why.

That was fine by her. Everyone had the right to their own secrets.

She fluffed up his pillow and set it behind him, taking the bottle from his limp grasp. He tried to give her a smile, but it slipped as quickly as his entire body did on the bed. By the time she'd dropped the bottle off at the nearby desk, he was fast asleep, utterly silent in a way he never was awake.

Just as she had promised, she got to work. It didn't take long to get rid of the arrowhead, and there didn't seem to be any signs of infection, thankfully. Indeed, after she dropped off the arrowhead in the disposal, the raw wound was already beginning to heal, little patches of skin creeping across.

It was unsettling to watch. Inhumane. Suppressing a shudder, Manuela closed her eyes and called upon her own healing magic. Magic and Crests were both unnatural, perhaps, but there was a notable difference between magic you could control and your body just - doing whatever it wanted to, because of the blood that laid within.

When that was done, she cleaned up around where the wound had been and put in a few stitches, just to be safe, although it looked as though the skin would heal itself together no problem.

Your body naturally healing itself… perhaps, on paper, it sounded like a wonderful power, but Manuela could only think of all the problems that had to come with it. Not for the first time, she was grateful for not having a Crest. It always seemed like a terrible burden for a benefit so small - and even then, it wasn't always a benefit, was it?

Finally, she was done. Manuela sighed and made to pull the curtain to give the sleeping boy some privacy. Instead, she paused, fingers clenching the sheet, before she sighed and let go.

What overcame her was an instinct she'd never say out loud; a parental urge, to protect people so much younger than yourself. She'd seen so many unloved students pass through the monastery over the years, some apparent, others not. Those students especially made this job worth it; watching them develop and grow, blossom into promising young adults who'd go on to find happiness…

She'd stitch up wounds a thousand times without complaint, just to see a single one of them smile.

It was that instinct which compelled her to walk over to Claude and push aside his messy fringe, before bending down and giving his forehead the gentle, warm kiss of a parent's love. She smoothed back his hair, taking in the chipped foundation on his face that concealed heavy eyebags, the unhappy tug of his lips as he rested, the knot between his frowning eyebrows, and her heart ached.

Making sure that the blanket was tucked in around him, careful to avoid touching his chest, Manuela went to the door and opened it.

Really, she _ shouldn't _have been surprised by what greeted her; Professor Byleth and all their students, sitting down on the ground in front of the archbishop's room. Some of them were chattering; others were reading books, or engaged in their own little activities. All of their heads snapped up, falling into immediate silence, as one as soon as her door opened. Chuckling to herself, Manuela walked towards them, heels clicking.

Byleth stood as Manuela approached, a slight frown of concern blemishing that usually-emotionless face of theirs. They smelt faintly of saltwater and fresh fish. “Well..?”

“Did your students tell you what happened?”

They nodded.

“Well, it's all sorted now. He's just resting.”

“That's good to hear.” Byleth rested their hand over their chest and gave an awkward bow. “... Thank you.”

“Aw, no need for that.” Manuela swatted their shoulder with a giggle. “It's my pleasure.”

“Ah - still.” Byleth looked like they’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I appreciate it. We all do. We’d… be much worse off without you around.”

_ “Hush, _you.” Manuela wiped from the corner of her eye a tear she couldn’t convince herself was fake.

“I mean it.”

“I know. And we all appreciate you too.”

Byleth’s face coloured. “...Thank you,” they said stiffly.

As silence fell, Manuela’s mind went back to that boy in the bed. The boy who, despite all his easy words and loud laughs, had eyes colder than ice.

Manuela was intimately familiar with loneliness, in all of its forms. It wasn’t difficult for her to recognise it in another, no matter how they tried to conceal it.

“Professor… just…”

“Yes?”

“If you can, stay with him until he wakes up? It shouldn't be too long, and…” Manuela sighed. “Well. I'm sure you understand why I'm asking you that.”

“I do.” Byleth nodded. “Don't worry.”

“Good. If you need me for anything, don't hesitate.”

“I won't. Thank you again, Manuela.” They turned to their students. “Anyone want to wait in the infirmary until Claude wakes up?”

All of the Golden Deer were squeezing past Byleth before they had even finished speaking, squabbling with one another in the narrow corridor. Lorenz and Leonie butted heads when the former tried to insist upon letting her enter first, only for Lysithea to duck underneath his arm while grumbling. Raphael was beaming cheek-to-cheek, Ignatz's air supplies in his arms as the boy struggled to match his steps, huffing out mighty breaths with his sketchpad held tight to his chest. Marianne had her hand taken by Hilda with a gentle smile and quiet, encouraging words.

Byleth watched them go in with a warm smile. It was a smile that reminded Manuela vividly of Jeralt's; she'd only ever seen him smile at his child or whenever they were mentioned.

“You have a good lot,” Manuela said.

“I do,” Byleth agreed, still with that slight, proud expression as they followed after them.

Manuela stood there until the doors creaked shut. Smiling herself, she left to give that strange little dysfunctional family some privacy.

**Author's Note:**

> [i've got a twitter - check it out if you wanna!](https://twitter.com/greenpiggles)
> 
> and thanks for reading~ kudos and comments help keep an author going! <3


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